A Model Agent
by Maricole
Summary: Not to be taken too seriously
1. Default Chapter

A MODEL AGENT

A Profiler Story

Continues on from Mistaken Identity, (but it's not really a follow on) so please read that first.

NB I know nothing about modeling, or drugs, nor is this meant to be taken too seriously so please be kind)

All standard disclaimers apply.

Three weeks after their return from Miami, the team was celebrating a momentary lapse in their workload, when Bailey called a meeting in the Control Center, and dropped his bombshell, then sat back and waited for the fall out.

John stared around the big table at his co-workers, then back at Bailey, his face blank with shock.

"You want me to do WHAT?" he asked, in total disbelief.

"Narcotics have requested our help. Because of our precarious position with financing at the moment, I have agreed to help them out. We will get big brownie points for the VCTF if we do this, and get a result for them."

The look of horror on John's face didn't abate one bit.

"But why ME?' he asked in a panicking and pathetic voice. "Surely they have got someone else they can use? I couldn't possibly do that sort of thing."

Rachel glanced across the table, and exchanged a look with Grace, then quickly looked back down at the table, so as to hide her smile.

"Their CO, Susan Jamison, requested you. She asked for you by name. The top brass complied. I assumed you knew her."

"I've never met her … oh once maybe, at the Christmas Dinner last year, the one You couldn't go to and made Me go in your place. I had to sit next to her." The whine in John's voice increased.

"And no doubt, really impressed her with your charm," said Rachel, earning herself a hot and angry glare.

"I am so glad you are finding this amusing," John snarled at her, and she smiled sweetly back at him.

Bailey now had to try and control his smile, at the peevishness in John's voice.

"Well as we have just finished the McCarthy murder investigation and Rachel and I can handle the Venning case, I can spare you for a couple of days, so Susan is coming down in about 5 minutes, to discuss their case with us. Have you finished complaining?"

George sniggered, and Grace put her hand over her mouth, to stop laughing out loud.

John crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at them. He was about to say something else, when someone appeared at the top of the control center steps, and Bailey jumped to his feet, holding out a hand in welcome.

"Susan, so glad to see you again," he said. "Come and meet the team."

Rachel watched with interest as Bailey introduced the older woman, smiling and offering her hand when it was her turn. She had heard stories about how this woman had reached the top job in the Narcotics division of the FBI, and been impressed by them.

She cast another glance at John, who was still sitting with his arms crossed, pouting, and smothered her smile.

"Well," said Bailey, when everyone had been introduced. "Take a seat and tell us what is it exactly you need from us?"

"Well we have been trying to break up a drug ring for some time," began Susan, looking around at the VCTF team. "And we have had our eye on somebody for ages – his name is Murray Novak. He is extremely wealthy, old money, and we believe he is using his patronage with a modeling agency to force some of the models to distribute for him, and he has ties to organized crime. So we want to put one of our guys in to keep an eye on him. Our guy will go in as a photographer, and of course, we need the model, which is where I hope you will be able to help. Novak has a lot to do with this very well known modeling agency, who is currently looking for male models; and Novak is hosting a special 'shoot' this weekend, and is looking at picking some unknowns, to elevate to stardom. We want to put someone into the shoot, so they can get in and out of his mansion without arousing too much suspicion."

John ground his teeth, and Susan looked over at him, smiling widely.

"I think you would be great," she said, taking in his blue, blue eyes, and smoldering expression. "The man we had originally planned to do this, came down with chicken pox last week. So I was stuck for a while, this being our best chance to get someone close to this guy, when someone suggested I try the VCTF, and you. I remembered sitting next to you at some FBI function or other, and thought I'd ring Bailey and see what happened."

"I can't do it," said John, trying to control the panic in his voice, talking for the first time since Susan arrived. "I wouldn't know what to do, and anyway, I'm far too old for that. It would be way too embarrassing."

Susan looked over at Bailey, who raised both eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't think you know very much about the modeling world," she said to John. "Men your age are in constant demand. You could be a brother, boyfriend, husband or father. It's only the women who have to be anorexic teenagers, and it's only a picture shoot anyway, I promise you there is no pain involved. We really need to get our guy in there as your photographer, so he can try and get close to this man, without suspicion. Once he's established, well no one will be expecting you to be picked as one of the finalists. You'll just be sent on your way, like most of the others will be."

"Besides, it will be a laugh, John," said Grace. "You get to hang out with all the pretty people for a couple of days for a few lousy photos. Where's the harm."

John looked down at his crossed arms, and heaved a pained sigh. "What will I have to do?' he asked in sulky resignation.

"Smile prettily at the camera," said Rachel, and George laughed again. Bailey frowned at them, and leaned forward.

"How many days will you need John for?" he asked Susan, who was still staring at John in a steady manner. She turned back to Bailey and smiled at him.

"Two days only, they will keep the 3 most promising longer, but we aren't expecting that - if I can get you to come with me now John, I'll introduce you to Phillip, who is the photographer, and one of my best agents, and we will set up getting you a stylist, and a wardrobe, etc, then tomorrow we will head up to Eagle Crest, which is the name of his mansion where the shoot is being held. I know this is short notice, but I am quite desperate at the moment. I really have to thank you for this Bailey."

John's face had become more and more sullen as the words 'stylist' and 'wardrobe' had been mentioned, while Rachel and George both worked hard to control their smirks.

Susan looked around the room, and nodded at the team, then walked up the stairs, with John trailing reluctantly behind her, looking for all the world like a little boy about to be called into the Principle's office, and shooting venomous glares back in their direction.

"I'll need you to come back here this afternoon and finish up some paperwork John," Bailey called after him, and was rewarded by a scowl as John followed Susan to the elevator.

When he was out of sight, Rachel and George burst into laughter, and Bailey tried to look disapproving, but failed miserably.

"You are both awful," said Grace. "Poor John, he's so not happy about this."

"Yes," agreed Rachel. "John, doing a photo shoot! How priceless! George, you will have to get hold of the photos, we can use them to blackmail him for ages and ages!"

George nodded. "Oh, I intend to," he said, and even Bailey was grinning.

"You don't think that John will photograph well?" asked Grace, her head on one side. "I mean, as much as we like to tease him, he is a very good looking guy."

"Oh please," said Rachel; then looked around at her co-workers. "What?"

She sniffed a little. "Whatever turns you on, I suppose," she said dismissively. "He certainly doesn't do anything for me!" and she got up and walked up the stairs towards her office with her nose in the air.

George and Grace exchanged glances. "I think she protests too much," said George lightly, and Grace nodded. Bailey picked up a file that was sitting on the table in front of him, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Let's see if you can find out any back ground on Charles Venning, George," he said and headed up the stairs after Rachel.

It was much later in the afternoon, when the remains of the team gathered in the control room for an information sharing session, on their latest case.

John appeared at the top of the stairs, and Rachel stopped in mid sentence and they all watched him walk into the room.

He sat down, propped his elbows on the table, and dropped his head into his hands, in an attitude of abject misery.

George stopped keying, and Grace, who was sitting next to him, reached out and touched his hand.

"What's wrong John?" she asked, with as much sympathy as she could get in her voice, without laughing.

He heaved a sigh; then turned to Bailey.

"I have gone above and beyond the call of duty," he said, a spark of anger igniting in his blue eyes. "Do you know what they did to me today?" he added in outraged tones. "I deserve, no I demand a raise."

Bailey schooled his expression into one of polite interest. "What did they do?" he asked.

"They made me take off most of my clothes, for a start," John said in a voice so offended and incredulous, that both Grace and Rachel had to conceal their smiles.

"Then, they discovered that I have a bullet scar on my shoulder that will show in photographs, so they called in a make-up expert – yes, that's right, Make-Up - to see if they could cover it up. But by no means, was that the worst thing."

"Oh," said George, actually closing his laptop, to devote more attention to John's tale.

"Apparently, real men don't have hair on their chests," said John bitterly. "They made me have it waxed. I will never again complain about the pain from a simple bullet wound."

Both Grace and Rachel burst out laughing, but Grace quickly recovered to put her hand out to John in sympathy.

"Oh sweetie," she said. "We know only too well, what you must have gone through."

"I tried not to scream too much, I tried to take it like a man," said John. "But someone mentioned having one's photograph taken was not painful. I am here to state that is not true!"

Bailey and George were also laughing now, at John's woebegone expression.

"Then," he continued, in the voice of a man driven to the edge, "They had to decide what I would be wearing. And guess what they decided for the first picture - a pair of jeans and cowboy boots is what I will be wearing. That's it – just a pair of jeans and cowboy boots! Not any jeans, either, but jeans that are at least three sizes too small for me to wear without doing serious damage to myself! And I had to really argue for the jeans – they wanted me to take them off." And he heaved a huge sigh. "And wear a G-string! I was walking out of the door, when they gave in and said I could have the jeans."

"It's only going to be a couple of days," said George, smirking. "You can do it."

"It's only been a couple of hours so far, and I don't think I can," said John gloomily. "Already I've had all the hairs on my chest ripped out by the roots, been asked to take all of my clothes off in public, and had some man – a man I'm telling you, fondling almost every part of my anatomy, and deciding what my skin tones are, whether I should wear lip gloss for the photos, and what color underwear I'll be wearing. All the time surrounded by a lot of women who think I should do things like exfoliate, which sounds disgusting and I refuse to do! I have never been so humiliated in my life, listening to these people discuss angles and lighting and which side of my body is better. I really think I have gone above and way, way, way beyond the call of duty."

The team were all laughing at John's tale of woe, by the time he finished, and finally he reluctantly grinned, some of the misery leaving his face.

"Sounds awful," said Bailey, truly shocked. "I didn't realize all this would be happening. Still, too late to back out now, and surely the most painful part is over."

"I really hope so," said John. "If I had known about the waxing thing, I would have shot myself in the foot to avoid it. It really, really hurt!"

George screwed up his face. "Ouch," he said, "I bet it did. Still, I bet you look real pretty and smooth now, and no more scars till at least you have a shower." and every one laughed again.

John wandered off to his desk, to finish up the paperwork that Bailey wanted, moodily staring at his computer screen and wondering how he was going to cope with the next couple of days.

After a little while Rachel came up, and perched on the corner of his desk, and he stopped what he was doing and looked up at her enquiringly.

"Tell you what," she said, "Come over to my place and we can have a few drinks tonight. I'll cook my famous Mexican chicken."

"O.K.," he replied, and for the first time that day actually smiled. "Sounds good, I'll bring the wine."

Rachel stood up and walked away, then turned back as she reached the corner. "And if you are very good," she said, fluttering her eye lashes at him in a parody of flirtation, "I'll rub some soothing lotion all over your poor, painful but now strangely naked chest."

John laughed this time and raised his eyebrows.

"It's a deal," he said, "But then only if I can do the same for you."

"Promise?" she asked, in a wonderful imitation of a sultry temptress. "Don't be late."

They had started meeting together once or twice a week for a drink after work several months before, after John's girlfriend had been killed, and it was now an established ritual that Rachel would cook a meal for John or he would buy a take out meal for both of them on these nights.

They still enjoyed sniping at each other at work, and seemed to compete to see who could be the most annoying when they were with the rest of the team, but in private they had settled into a companionable friendship, which for some reason, they both hid from the rest of the VCTF, neither of them wanting to be reminded of the accusations Rachel had faced about sexual harassment, which had caused them both extreme embarrassment.

For some reason, neither of them was willing to disturb the fragile balance of their friendship by exposing it to the eyes of anyone else at the moment. And neither of them would admit, that they would like to take it further, both of them thinking that the other might back away at a sudden move.

Rachel left for her apartment, and 10 minutes later John draped himself in Bailey's doorway, to say goodnight to him.

"Have fun on assignment for the next few days," said Bailey, who was sitting back in his chair, a cigar between his fingers, and a shot of whiskey in his glass.

"Yeah, thanks," said John, sarcastically. "Can't wait."

"Well keep in touch, twice a day by phone. Any problems and get out of there. You know the drill."

John nodded. "Phil, the photographer seems like he knows what he's doing. And he's the one that will be snooping around. But I'll touch base twice a day, and see you on Thursday, or hopefully before, if they decide I am hopeless and dismiss me the first day.

Actually, that's probably what's going to happen." And he walked toward the elevator,

feeling a little happier.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Two days later, and the team had made another arrest, catching Charles Venning, as he was about to board a plane to Miami. Bailey sent Rachel and Marcus back to the VCTF, while he went to police headquarters to formally charge his prisoner.

By the time he got back to the VCTF, the rest of his team, were sitting in the cafeteria drinking coffee. George was eating a doughnut, and Grace was preparing to leave for the afternoon.

"I can't believe we wrapped that up so quickly," he said, grabbing a hot drink, and coming back to the table. "And John will be back tomorrow."

"Um," said George, and stopped eating. "Err no he won't."

"Excuse me?" said Bailey, putting his cup down. "What?"

"John rang while you were off at the airport. He wants you to ring him back. Something has come up, he seemed quite upset about it."

Bailey pulled his cell out of his pocket, and rang John's number.

"You rang?" asked Bailey, when John answered.

The others watched various expressions chase themselves across his face as he talked into his phone.

"No…it's all right…calm down…no… we will sort it out…yes…tomorrow…I'll talk to Susan and sort things out… Just calm down and someone will see you tomorrow…"

He disconnected and looked up to see the rest of them staring at him. His mouth twitched, though he tried to maintain his stern expression.

"John is panicking," he told them. "The Agency wants him to sign a contract! The photographer that's with him is really close to getting what he needs, and won't let John leave." His mouth twitched again, and he gave in, grinning at them, as Rachel and George began laughing.

"However, it's time he came back, so Rachel, you have got legal experience. You will go up there tomorrow as John's Agent or girlfriend or whatever, and be so obnoxious and greedy, that they won't want to sign him up."

Rachel agreed, and George put down the remains of his doughnut, brushing crumbs from his fingers and stood up.

"The photographer emailed me a sample of the first two day's photos, if you guys want to see them," he said casually, and both Rachel and Grace nodded eagerly, quickly following him back to the control room.

"Hang on for just a moment," said Bailey, picking up his cup, and heading off towards his office. "I'll send upstairs for Susan to come and have a look as well. I know she'll be interested."

Susan Jamison kept them waiting for about ten minutes, but she finally came down the stairs to the control center, followed by a couple of other women, who she introduced as 'staff'. Everyone took a seat, and George flashed up the first photo onto the big screen.

There was complete silence in the room.

The picture showed John leaning back on a fence, elbows resting across the top of the fence behind him, one leg bent up and hooked over the bottom rail. He was wearing tight jeans and boots, as promised, and nothing else. His eyes looked very blue, his hair very dark, the ribbed muscles of his taut upper body showed out in stark relief.

"Holy Shit!" said one of the women.

"Well, I think I made the right choice," said Susan with satisfaction. "I thought he'd be very good."

"Oh he's good, very good," murmured another of the women who had accompanied her. "Better than good, he's gorgeous."

The next photo was a close up, and somehow they had got John to smile.

"How long has he worked in this building?" asked another of the women to Susan in an under voice. "How come I've never run into him in the lift?"

The third photo had John lying on the grass on his side, his head supported in one hand, pouting sulkily at the camera, still wearing only jeans and boots, and looking criminally sexy.

"I want a transfer to the VCTF," whispered one of the women to Susan.

The next photo showed a blonde woman, standing behind John, with her arms around his body and her hands across his naked chest, pressing her face into his back.

Rachel snapped the pen she was holding in half - glaring at the big screen, and found her heart was beating quite fast in her chest. She knew John was good looking but these photos took her breath away. She found herself hating the three women who were giggling and making suggestive comments, even though she knew John wouldn't really care what they said. She particularly hated the blonde model in the photo with him. Grace cast a quick look at her, and smiled a little at her expression.

"Well that's all Phil sent me," said George, when he had put up six or seven shots, each one better than the next. "He said in his email to me that John was a natural. I think maybe he is right!"

"Hmm," said Bailey, "Well Rachel is going down there in the morning, to spit legal terms at the modeling agency, and hopefully John will come back with her tomorrow afternoon," he told Susan. "I need him back here, and your man has had his three days."

"I'd rather he stayed a little longer, if they want him too," said Susan sharply. "Phil needs a bit more time."

"He wants to come back," said Bailey, "I doubt if I can persuade him to stay."

"Phil is very close on this," said Susan. "I'd like John to stay longer, especially if they've requested that he do so. The director at Quantico wants him to stay," she added provocatively

The two heads of department glared at each other.

One of the women from Susan's department turned to look at Rachel.

"Lucky you," she said in an aside. Rachel ignored her by turning her back, and walking out of the control center, not really knowing why she felt angry with the women who had been drooling over John's pictures. She was suddenly glad that Bailey had chosen to send her to get John tomorrow. She didn't want them taking any more of those photos of him, unless she was there, particularly ones with other women in them. It wasn't that she was jealous, she told herself; it was just that obviously it made John uncomfortable, so therefore she was uncomfortable for him, as any good friend would be! So she told herself anyway!


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

She arrived at the impressive wrought iron gates of the mansion just after 10 the next morning, and after speaking to a security guard, was allowed to drive up the long drive and park her car.

She made her way towards the imposing looking front door, but was diverted by the sound of voices coming from behind a large hedge, so she headed that way, and found herself approaching a large swimming pool area, complete with sun lounges and glamorous looking people draped over them. There were a plethora of cables and lights, and three gorgeous looking men in various stages of undress, posing on the side of the pool.

Rachel looked at them critically, one was wearing only board shorts and fake tan, one was wearing a tee shirt and board shorts, and the other just a G-string, lying on his stomach on a towel, and having make up applied to his backside. For one moment she thought it was John, but then realized that he was not among the three, and stifling back her giggles, she walked up to one of the photographers.

"Could you tell me where I could find Jo-Dale Scott please?" she asked, almost forgetting the name that John was using.

"Oh the delectable Dale," he said, lowering his camera to look at her. "I believe he is in the house," he went on to say, indicating the mansion with a casual wave of the hand. "They are doing formal shots in there I think."

With another lingering and appreciative glance at the nearly naked man by the pool, Rachel picked her way over the cables and cords, and around some of the people and headed towards the entrance the photographer had indicated.

She found herself inside a large room, which was also covered wires and cables, with large lights across one wall, and a large blue screen against another. There were some people holding more lights, and the main photographer who was talking to someone sitting in front of the blue screen. She slipped unobtrusively into the room, standing slightly to one side, and half behind a pillar, several of which decorated the room.

It was John sitting on a bar stool in front of the blue screen. He was wearing a tuxedo, and Rachel caught her breath. The tuxedo was not black, but very dark navy blue, and they had put him in a baby blue dress shirt, the color of which emphasized the dusky blue of his eyes. The bow tie was undone, and hanging around the collar of his shirt and they had obviously told him not to shave, because he was sporting a night's stubble on his cheeks and chin.

"All right Dale," the photographer was saying. "You have been out all night. The girl of your dreams has accepted your proposal. You are very happy. I need that smile!"

John made a halfhearted attempt at smiling, and the photographer took several shots, then sighed and put his camera down for a moment.

"Sarah, can you undo just the top two buttons of his shirt?" he asked, and one of the women ran forward and began playing with John's shirt. John fended her off, and tried to do it himself, but was overruled by both the photographer, and someone else who was obviously a make up person, who darted in and began applying powder to his face. Rachel smiled to herself as she caught glimpses of John's expression as he suffered the women's attention, even while she was resenting them touching him. Then the photographer picked up his camera again, and waved the others out of the shot.

"Dale, I know that I am not your regular photographer, and that you are new to this, but if you try and work with me here, I am sure I can get you a cover. I am the best! And the agency wants me to do your photo shoot now. But I really need a proper smile – one that shows that dimple in your cheek." He began snapping shots as mutinous expressions chased themselves across John's face, and then Rachel stepped out from behind the pillar, and John saw her. He watched her walk towards him, and he turned slightly to smile warmly at her, and the photographer began clicking away urgently.

"That's right, that's the smile I wanted," he said exited, "Keep it going, but look this way a little, that's fabulous, wonderful."

John was totally ignoring him, he grinned at Rachel and only stopped when the words of the photographer sunk in, and then he turned to scowl at him.

Ignoring the photographer, he stood up and went over to Rachel, and swept his arms around her, and to her total but pleased surprise hugged her, and after a slight hesitation, she hugged him back.

Then she realized he was whispering in her ear "Get me the hell out of here."

She pushed on his chest till he let her go, and she smiled up at him delighted at seeing him so off balance that he was actually glad to see her.

"No, no, no, no, no!" exclaimed the photographer, even while he had continued to take photographs. "This is not what we planned. This is not the model I picked out for you to hug. Who are you?" and he stalked angrily over to Rachel and John, and thrust himself between them.

Rachel stepped back and smiled at this angry quivering little person.

"I am Rachel S-Smith," she said "Dale is my …client," she said. "Any deals that anyone wants to make with him must come through me."

"Well no-one has discussed this with me!" said the photographer angrily. "Go and sit back down," he snapped at John, "And you go away," he said to Rachel.

Rachel swallowed her smile, and turned back to John, whose blue eyes had darkened in anger at the words of the photographer. She nodded to him, still smirking a little, and went to stand behind the camera again. John watched her and sighed, turning around to flop back down on the stool, glaring in temper at the photographer.

"Where's Tiffany?" the photographer called, and the blonde model that Rachel had seen in the early photos with her hands on John, entered the room, dressed in an exquisite evening dress, with her hair falling loosely out of what had been a very formal style, carrying her shoes.

"Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, "I had to change out of a bikini and wash off fake tan." She smiled warmly at John, as she spoke, and Rachel ground her teeth as he smiled back at her.

"Well get over there, I want you to hold both her hands Dale, and gaze into each other's eyes. You have just committed to each other, this is the end of the night of your dreams."

John reached out and took both the blonde woman's hands in his, and smiled at her gently. The photographer started clicking away, talking all the time, getting the two of them to pretend to dance with each other, to imaginary music, holding onto one another closely, to pretend to walk slowly, arms around each other, and to hug. While Rachel chewed the strap on her handbag, he took endless photos, swapping from camera to camera, fussing with the jewelry that Tiffany was wearing, and changing filters constantly, only stopping finally when he ran out of film.

Rachel was amazed and secretly impressed at how natural John seemed, and also a little upset at what a beautiful a couple they made, and relieved beyond measure, when John dropped the blonde's hands, and came straight to her, as soon as a halt was called. He rolled his eyes expressively at her, and grinned, inviting her to find the whole thing ridiculous, along with him, and she couldn't help but join in and grin back at him, the tenseness and anger leaving her with a rush.

"God, isn't this all stupid?" he asked her in a low tone. "Anyway, let's go, before this guy decides he wants more photos. I am so over this whole thing."

"She's very pretty," Rachel commented, as they passed the other woman. John turned to look at her, then back down at Rachel.

"Yes, she is," he said. "If you like the type."

"Oh come on," said Rachel. "She's female! Isn't that the only criteria for you?"

He frowned a little, and stopped walking. "Tiffany is about 10 years younger than me," he said. "And so thin that when I put my arms around her, all I can feel is bones. And let me tell you, I got a good look down the front of that dress when I was hugging her, and there is nothing there! So no, she's not really my type, but she is a nice girl, doing a job that is a lot harder than people think."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but said nothing, and after a moment John took off again, and she followed him through the beautiful house, and out through the back, where a row of caravans stood on the lawn. John strode over to one, and opened the door, indicating to Rachel to enter

The caravan interior was very modern, but very small, and cluttered with clothes. John sat down in one of the small half round couches, and Rachel sat down in the opposite seat. "Where is Phil now?" she asked. "Did he manage to snoop at all?"

"Well I don't know where he is," replied John. "He was supposed to do that shoot this morning, but he wasn't here when I woke up. After I came out of wardrobe, they told me that other photographer was taking over from him, and that he was doing something else. I am a bit worried about him though, he was going to be with us when we go before the management."

He frowned suddenly. "I'd better get changed, the powers that be want to see me – us at 11."

He headed into the far bedroom, which was totally taken up by the bed, so had to awkwardly undress in the doorway. Rachel made no attempt to look away, and watched intently as he stripped off the tuxedo jacket, and baby blue shirt, and then the trousers, standing there in black jockey shorts, unaware of Rachel's total enjoyment. She sighed as he leaned over and grabbed a shirt and jeans from on the bed, watching the play of muscle up and down his back. He stepped into the blue jeans, and turned around, catching her eyes on him, and grinned self consciously, his fingers doing up the zip on his jeans.

She allowed her eyes to feast on the glorious expanse of his naked and now hairless chest.

"I'm sorry about the cramped conditions," he said awkwardly, slipping one muscular arm and then the other, into the plain white shirt, and starting on the buttons.

"Yeah, I guess there wasn't enough room to put you guys in the mansion itself. It would only have about 20 or so bedrooms." Rachel said sarcastically. "What have you found out so far?"

"That I hate having my photo taken," he replied so seriously that Rachel laughed. "No, I mean, have you discovered anything about Murray Novak – anything at all?"

"Well, Phil wanted to get into some of the out of bounds places inside the mansion. I don't know if he succeeded, because I was being passed around from photographer to photographer, and not able to have five minutes to myself!" he answered his tone becoming terse and his voice rising. "And what's more, after this talk this morning, I have to go and do one more shoot before they will let me go!" his sense of injury grew with every word he said.

Rachel patted his arm soothingly. "Never mind," she said, in what she hoped was a sympathetic voice. "Just imagine how much enjoyment you will get out of nailing this guy."

John sniffed. "Well, considering it's not even one of our cases, and I know nothing about this guy except that his house is really big, I don't think the enjoyment factor will be huge."

Rachel abandoned her attempt at sympathy. "Well stop sulking, and let's get it over and done with then," she said briskly, pushing him out of the caravan door. "And stop with that brooding pouty look, I'm over it, even if you aren't."

"I am not sulking!" said John indignantly. "I am just saying that I don't enjoy this…"

"Yes yes yes," said Rachel, pushing him onwards again. "We've all heard you go on about how much you don't like it, ad nauseum, I might add. Some people might think you protest too much!"

John cast her a hurt look, and walked off, Rachel followed, trying not to laugh at him.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

They walked side-by-side back towards the entrance to the big house, and Rachel was about to tell John what was happening back at the VCTF, when a strange noise had them both stopping and listening intently.

"Did you hear that?" asked John, glancing around. Rachel looked behind also, but neither of them could see anything. With a shrug of his shoulders John went to walk on, when they heard the noise again. This time something hit him in the ankle, and cursing, he bent down to rub it, and found himself eye to eye with the missing cameraman Phil, who was lying under one of the caravans.

"Just pretend to do up your shoe or something, and don't look across at me," he hissed, as loudly as he could. "I've been chased all over the bloody estate since the early hours of this morning!"

John knelt down on one knee, and pretended to play with his shoe, looking up at Rachel, but asking Phil as quietly as he could what had happened.

"Bloody security caught me going through Novak's office. Their head honcho, a charming man called Hardinger was called in to question me. – He will be on his way to question you too, since you came with me."

"No one's spoken to me," said John, standing and brushing at his trousers. "But I've been under their gazes all morning, like a well trained robot!" he had to add bitterly.

"Did you get anything?" asked Rachel, her back to the van.

"Heaps," came the whispered reply. "Enough to nail the guy. But the guards he employs are not nice. They worked me over some. We have to get out of here, and now."

Rachel dug her elbow into John's side, as a security guard walked around from behind the row of caravan's, glaring at them suspiciously. Without hesitation, John who was still down on one knee, put one hand up towards Rachel, and asked in a very loud voice if she would consider marrying him.

Pretending she hadn't seen the security guard, she put her hand over her mouth, and fluttered her eyelashes in maidenly confusion.

"Oh J-Dale," she replied, in a breathy voice. "How I've longed for this moment." And she put her hand in his, pulling him to his feet, so they could embrace.

"Have you got your gun in your handbag?" John whispered in her ear, and she nodded, breaking away from him when she 'noticed' the other man approaching.

"Excuse me, we are having a private moment here," she said, turning to face the guard.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said looking her up and down. "Are you Dale Scott?" he said, turning to John, who was standing behind Rachel, one arm around her waist. "The boss would like to have a quick word with you, before the contracts are signed."

"Oh yeah?" replied John. "About what?"

"I don't know," replied the man in a surly manner. "Just a courtesy, you've been on his property for a few days, and he would like to meet you personally I suppose."

John nodded as if he could understand the reason, walked a few steps towards the mansion; and then turned back.

"I've just got to get something from my van first," he said.

"But Mr. Novak's expecting you now," said the guard, taking a sideways step, and blocking John's path.

John smiled slowly. "Well, I'll only be a minute," he said. "If you are worried about letting me out of your sight, you come too."

"Well hurry up then," growled the guard, stepping aside, and following John back towards his caravan.

"You stay here darling, I'll be back in a sec." John said loudly to Rachel, and bent forward to kiss her, whispering in her ear "Get Phil and come into the van in a minute."

He walked back down the row of caravans, to the one that he and Phil were using, and opened the door, stepping up into it, and disappeared from sight. The guard stood outside for a moment cursing, and then followed John inside.

"Come on," he said in an irritated voice, as he walked inside, "I haven't got all day. Mr. Novak is expecting you now."

As his eyes adjusted to the different light, he frowned when he saw John rummaging through his backpack.

"Come on," he repeated. "This isn't important," walking up close behind John, and in an obvious attempt to intimidate him began fingering his gun.

"Oh I think it is," said John, who didn't mind intimidating people himself upon occasion. He swung around, and placed his identification badge on the small table next to the guard.

"I think you can give me that gun, and sit down for a moment," said John pleasantly, enjoying the thunderstruck expression on the face of the security guard.

"What's this?" the guard said. "That's got to be fake!" indicating John's badge. He pulled his gun out, and pointed it at John, who raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Hardinger warned me about you. You are coming with me, and you will tell Hardinger everything he wants to know, pretty boy, even where your friend has got to."

"I don't think so," said John, not in the least worried by the guard's threats. "This is not fake – and my friend is … here."

Rachel opened the door to the caravan, and walked in, followed by Phil. The guard swung around, but was not quick enough to stop John from grabbing his gun, and ripping it out of his hands. He snarled angrily, as John wrested control away from him, and indicated that he should sit down at the tiny table.

"We are FBI," said Rachel, to the angry guard. "Your boss is running a drug ring. You can either help us or not, but whatever the outcome, your boss is going down."

The guard glared at them defiantly, and in disbelief. Phil went to the end of the caravan where he had been sleeping, and began throwing things in his suitcase, particularly his cameras and equipment.

"Rachel, it might be time to ring Bailey, and call in the cavalry," said John, his eyes never straying from the guard's. "We don't know how many people are going to try and stop us leaving."

"You won't get out of here," sneered their prisoner. "Place is swarming with security and cameras. Mr. Hardinger has already issued orders that you are to be taken to see him. When I don't show in about a minute, they will send others."

"Well they must pay well, to have such a degree of loyalty," said John, conversationally. "Aren't you a little disturbed to be on the wrong side of the law?"

The guard sneered again. "You guys will go down for impersonating law officers. We were warned that a group might be trying to break into the mansion, and use the shoot to take photos to case the place to use later. Mr. Hardinger will have called the local police already, you won't get away."

"Good, I'd like to talk to the local police," said Rachel disconnecting her cell and watching Phil throw his things into his case. "John, are you packed too? I'll stay here and chat with... what's your name?"

The guard snorted at her in distain, and muttered something about overbearing women. John raised an eyebrow and grinned at Rachel. "Well, that should put you in your place," he murmured, and she shot him an exasperated glance in return.

"Guys," said Phil, looking out of the window nearest to his end of the van. "There are two more security guys coming this way."

John peered out, and picking up his id badge, shoving it into a back pocket.

"I'll go distract them," he said. "You guys get to the gate, and wait for Bailey and back-up. Keep Happy Jack here quiet."

"No…" began Rachel, but with a quick wink he opened the door, and walked down the single step, closing the door behind him.

They heard a shout, and watched out of the small windows as one of the guards spotted John, who glanced back innocently, and kept walking. The guards sprinted up to him, and even from inside the caravan, they could hear him tell the guards that he was late for an important meeting.

He then set off again, in the direction of the mansion, totally ignoring the two guards who after a hurried consultation, scurried after him, bypassing the caravan, where Phil had a gun trained on the guard, who was glaring at him in anger.

"You'll get caught," their guard hissed at them, "You won't get away with treating me like this."

Rachel turned to look at him in a speculative manner.

"What size are you Phil?" she asked, and the other FBI agent looked at her for a moment, in puzzlement; then as comprehension dawned, looked back at the guard and grinned.

"About his size," he said, "And I can make it fit, even if it's too big. You, get your shirt off and hurry up."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

John walked from the caravan with long strides, trying to get a good distance away without appearing to be in too much of a hurry, drawing the two guards along in his wake. As he entered the side door, into the mansion, they both caught up with him, and one of them stepped into his path, effectively blocking his way.

"You are Dale Scott?" said the one facing him. John looked around casually; the normally crowded room with the blue screen was uncharacteristically empty.

"Yes," he said finally, "What's the problem? I have a meeting in…" and he glanced at his watch, "less than five minutes."

"Mr. Novak would like to meet with you," said one of them. "Come this way."

"I'm late…" began John, but the other guard, losing patience shoved from behind, and pushed John up against the wall.

"Listen pretty boy," he said, with scorn in his voice, "when Mr. Novak says he wants to see you, you'd better listen. Now, unless you want me to rearrange those features on your face, so they aren't quite so photogenic, you'd better come with us, now!"

John stared back into the eyes of the guard who had stiff-armed him into the wall, trying not to let the flare of temper show in his face. He had no desire to meet with the owner of the mansion, Novak, or his head honcho, Hardinger – but knew reinforcements were still probably about half an hour away. He took a deep breath, and pushed the guard's arm away from his body.

"All right," he said innocently. "No need to get nasty. I'll come with you, though I have no idea why he wants to speak to me. Lead on."

The guards arranged themselves, one in front and one behind him, and they walked out into the spacious corridor of the mansion, and headed up into the private quarters. John took about eight steps, before bending down suddenly to pretend to play with one shoe. The guard behind him couldn't stop in time and ran straight into him. Before the leading man could even turn around, John had grabbed the other by the legs, and flipped him over his back and into the first man. He then took off back down the corridor in a quick sprint, and ran around the nearest corner, before the two surprised guards could even pick themselves up off the floor.

John couldn't believe that the bloody mansion was so empty, for the last three days you couldn't move in it without bumping into someone from the modeling company, but now when he would have appreciated lots of people, there was nobody around. He realized they must all be in the 'meeting' where he was supposed to be, and headed for that room, diving through an open doorway, seconds before the two men chasing him came around the corner. He sped through the empty lounge room, and through another door on the far side, erupting into the room being used by the modeling company.

John found himself being stared at by about twenty people who were sitting around in the larger room, being spoken to by the manager of the company, who stopped in mid sentence, as he burst in. He smiled apologetically, and shut the door behind him, choosing an empty chair and sliding into it self-consciously, scrunching down a little, and trying to blend in.

The Manager however, looked closely at him; then down at the notes she was holding.

"Ah, glad you could join us Dale," she said, "I thought you were bringing some people with you to the meeting?"

At that moment the guards opened the door and rushed into the room, stopping short as they realized the room was full of people.

Once again, everyone turned to stare at the newcomers, who also shut the door, and leaned back on it, but waved the manager to continue, and stood back, both of them blocking the exit and glowering at John.

The manager sighed in exasperation, and turned back to John.

"The people I was expecting just didn't turn up," he said. "I don't know where they are."

He studiously avoided looking in the direction of the two security men, but he could feel their eyes watching him, and he smiled a little at their obvious frustration at not being able to do anything in front of so many witnesses.

"Well then, as everyone else is here, let's get on with this, shall we?" she asked, and proceeded to talk a little about the modeling company, and their gratitude to Mr. Novak, for his continued patronage, and the use of his lovely house. John wasn't really listening to what she was saying, but folded his arms across his chest, and gazed at her, as if she were the most interesting person in the world, pretending total absorption in her words, and wondering whether the guards had thought to radio anyone at the gate to stop people leaving, or if another of them had decided to search the caravan.

Eventually people started clapping a little, and John brought his attention back to what was happening in the room, and found everyone was staring at him. He looked from one person to another blankly, until the man sitting next to him nudged him and indicated that he go and stand over to one side of the room with another two of the men who had been modeling.

"Yes," said the woman who had been talking, "Dale, if you would join Jason and Aaron over here, the rest of you, thank you for coming, but these three men are the ones who we would like to sign up at this time."

Feeling a little like a schoolboy called out the front of an assembly; John stood a little behind the other two men, who were obviously delighted, high fiving each other and grinning at their support people. The two guards at the door were forced to stand aside and allow the other people to leave, but stayed in the back of the room, still glaring at John, who smiled blandly back at them.

The woman, whose name he finally remembered was Carole Roberts, began talking again, to the three of them about needing another contract signature from each of them, and what the contract entailed, once again John wasn't paying attention, he was beginning to get worried and as he watched one of the guards finally pulled his two-way radio out of his top pocket, and began speaking into it, in urgent tones, his eyes never leaving John's face.

After a moment or two, he stopped talking and listened, and a smile slowly crept over his face, making John wonder what had happened, thinking it probably wouldn't be good news for him. He was beginning to wonder what had happened to the police reinforcements, knowing that Bailey would have alerted the local cops immediately, and they should have been here before now.

"And the conditions are the normal ones as I've just discussed, if you could just sign here, and initial where I've left the mark," said Ms Roberts thrusting a sheaf of papers at him. It took a moment or two to remember what she was talking about, he took the papers, and glanced through them trying to bring his mind back to the whole modeling thing, it appeared to be a contract of some sort, and obviously the other two men had signed; he grabbed a pen and signed with a flourish. He had no idea if a contract signed with a false name was binding or not, but at the moment, he didn't really care, Bailey would take care of it, and he had more important things to think about now.

"Well that's it then," said Carole Roberts handing the papers to her next in charge to co-sign, "Mr. Novak is on his way down to congratulate you, his patronage is very important to our company, and he can be a big help with contacts, etc. for someone just starting out."

John knew that he would be unable to wiggle out of this confrontation; he stayed where he was, wondering where Rachel and Phil were and how long he could delay the millionaire and his henchmen, before help arrived.

As he was considering his options, the door opened, and the millionaire himself walked in, followed by several other men, one of whom immediately spoke to the guards by the door, and then looked directly over at John. John decided there was nothing he could do, and stared deliberately back noting the man's size and the discreet bulge under his jacket, which spoke of a hidden weapon.

He could see that the manager of the agency, Carole Roberts, was squirming with pleasure at the attention of the millionaire, and totally expected the three models chosen to be likewise smitten. The other two men both smiled enthusiastically and reached out eagerly to shake the man's hand, when he came to John he stared him in the face, and reached out to shake his hand, but there was a coldness in his eyes, and his hand clamped around John's like a vice.

"Scott," he said, in a falsely hearty voice. "I'd like to talk to you – will you come to my office?" and he tugged at John's hand, while at the same time the hard eyed man who was standing with the guards made a soft movement, as if to pull out a gun, so John nodded, and while Carole Roberts smiled with pleasure that one of her new 'models' was being shown such favor, he followed Novak and the three other men out of the room, and into the depths of the mansion.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Not a word was spoken as the group made their way into the other wing, and John was almost politely ushered into a very plush office, where Novak and the man with the gun indicated he sit down, which he did so, while turning over in his mind, what he could say to delay things until the police arrived.

"We have some people here you might like to see," said Novak, and another door opened and Rachel and Phil were pushed into the room, so violently that Rachel tripped and fell on her knees. "Now, what is going on, and what are you people doing here?"

There was a moment's silence as John looked at Rachel and she shrugged her shoulders, climbing back onto her feet and rubbing her knees. He switched his gaze to the guard that had pushed her, and a flame of anger lit in his eyes.

"We caught these two on camera, trying to sneak out of the gate, Mr. Hardinger," said the guard who had pushed Rachel, "when the local cops turned up. Luckily we were able to persuade them it was a false alarm."

"Well, what's going on?" said Hardinger. "You three are up to something, and I want to know what it is. It seems as if you are not alone." He advanced on Phil as he spoke, and Phil glared back at him refusing to take a step back. After a moment, Hardinger smiled and turned away, looking over at Rachel.

"I'm sure you have something to tell me," he said softly, and in an even more deadly tone. "I am not a man you want to muck around with."

He walked threateningly towards her as he spoke, and although she didn't back away from him, John could tell she was tensing up as if expecting a blow. His anger accelerated, and he stood up suddenly, but before he could say or do anything, Phil squared his shoulders and stepped forward, intercepting the big man.

"We are FBI," he said, "You are under arrest," and John winced, his idea of playing for time without fuelling the situation into turning dangerous was shot to pieces.

There was a moment's silence, and the big security man burst into laughter, followed by one of the guards.

"I'm really scared," he said. "A hobbit, a girl, and a pretty boy – I'm sure the FBI could manage a little more grunt that you three. And what would you be arresting me for anyway?"

"Drug trafficking," said Phil, ignoring John who was making 'shut the hell up' faces at him. "I have knowledge and proof of your activities now. We have another team arriving any minute."

One of the security guards began to look a little uncertain, and Hardinger swore and stalked over to Phil, to pin him against the wall.

"You are a liar, and a very bad one at that," he said threateningly.

Novak, the millionaire also began to look a little nervous, and pulled Hardinger to one side, to whisper in his ear in an agitated manner. John took several steps over towards Rachel, but one of the guards glared at him, and produced a gun, indicating he remain where he was.

"I'm bringing everything forward," said Novak in a raised voice. "I'll have the car brought around now."

"Notify your pilot then, and get the plane ready. I'll deal with the loose ends."

"Luckily I've got most of my assets off shore now," muttered Novak, pulling a large folder out of his desk.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't allowed these people the run of the place these last few days," said Hardinger, disgusted. "I told you not to be so stupid. We are going to have to take along some insurance." He strode over to Rachel, as he spoke, and grabbed her by the arm. "You can come with us," he said to her, jerking her forward roughly. "You can take these two to the safe room, and lock them in there," he told the two guards.

Novak began spouting orders into the phone on the desk, and the guard who was looking nervous backed out of the room, only stopping when Hardinger turned the gun on him.

"I didn't sign on for this," said the guard. ."I don't need any trouble with the FBI!"

"Wise up," said Hardinger, still trying to bluff. "These people aren't FBI. They are just common criminals."

He still had hold of Rachel, and she tried to pull her arm out of his with a quick movement, but he anticipated her struggle, and gripped her tighter, hard enough to cause her to wince, and shook her a little, at the same time.

John clenched his hands into fists, and made a movement towards Hardinger, but the other guard brought up his gun, and trained it on John.

"Don't try it, I'll nail you before you get an inch," he said, "And you wouldn't want to bruise yourself, or maybe even break a fingernail," he added with a sarcastic sneer, and John shrugged his shoulders and nodded in total defeat. As the guard relaxed his grip on the gun just slightly, John launched himself across the room and before anyone else could react, felled the guard with a savage punch to the throat, grabbed his gun, and rolled across the floor, elbowing the other guard into the wall, to grab Novak, and push the barrel of the gun he was holding into the millionaire's neck.

As John moved, Rachel twisted again in Hardinger's grip, and pushing back with all her weight stamped on his foot, with one of her heels, and at the same time allowed herself to fall to the floor, so Hardinger had no option but to let go of her.

"You bitch," he said, raising a hand to slap her across the face, but John had thrown the gun to Phil, and he reached Hardinger before his hand could descend.

The two men stood inches apart, John holding the other man's arm in a grip as vicious as the one used on Rachel earlier. His eyes were gray with anger. Without a pause, Hardinger switched his weight to bring his other elbow up, and aim a savage blow at John, who anticipated the move, and countered by ducking. and then backhanded the older man across the room.

"You are under arrest," he said in a deadly voice, and pulled his id out of his back pocket.

Finally at the same time just faintly, they heard the sirens wailing in the distance as the police cars came up the hill.

"About bloody time," said John, as he pulled Rachel to her feet, "I can't wait to leave this place."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

John parked his Porsche in the underground garage of the FBI building, feeling pretty pleased with himself, and looking forward to putting the humiliating events of the last few days behind him. At least it had ended well; with the people they were investigating now facing lengthy jail terms, and the VCTF earning big points with the powers that be in Quantico.

He thrust his car keys into his suit pants pocket, and strode up to the lift doors, whistling a little tune that had been playing on his car radio earlier, smiling at the two women who were also waiting for the elevator. He stepped back when the doors opened, allowing the women to enter before him, then pushed the button for his floor. The two women began whispering and giggling, and staring at him really hard, and he began to feel uncomfortable under their collective gazes, wondering what they were staring at, and whether he had zipped up everything he should have. He cast a quick and furtive glance downwards, and was relieved to find things as they should be.

Luckily the lift soon stopped, with the slightest of jerks, but evidently enough of one to propel one of the women into tripping and falling against him.

He put his arm out and caught her by reflex, and was very surprised when she didn't stand up straight away, but had to clutch at him, her hands sliding all over his chest and arms and elsewhere. After quite a long moment, she recovered her footing, and standing very close to him, whispered her thanks, before joining her giggling friend in the corridor. John was pleased when the lift doors closed again, and he proceeded to his floor, feeling very embarrassed.

George was sitting at his desk sipping hot tea and looked up with interest as John walked into the control room.

"It's only 8," was all he said, and John looked over at him, puzzled by his comment.

"And?" he replied.

"Well, how can you look so disheveled so early in the morning?" asked George. "I mean, your tie is already crooked, and I think there's a button undone, or missing on your shirt! And it's come untucked."

John put his hand up and straightened his tie, and his fingers went to where the button was missing, and he cursed.

"Well, this woman in the lift this morning tripped over something, and I caught her, and she … um…. She … well I think she um…!" John couldn't stop the color creeping into his cheeks.

George began laughing, and John scowled at him, tucking his shirt into his pants.

'Good morning," said Bailey, as he strolled down the steps. "We have a fairly full schedule this morning, glad to see you are in early."

"For a change," said Rachel, as she came down behind Bailey, carrying her ever-present coffee cup.

"John's just been sexually assaulted," said George. "Had his clothes nearly torn off and everything."

Both Rachel and Bailey turned to look at John with amazement. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, nearly," he said in a plaintive tone, "Look, I've lost a button!"

"What happened?" asked Grace, as she came into the room. "What's the matter?"

"John got felt up in the lift," said George brightly. "I've never seen him blush like that before."

"Sexual harassment is not tolerated in the workplace," said Grace. "Are you going to report this?"

John looked even more horrified. "Oh God no," he said. "The woman tripped and I caught her. I'm probably just imagining the rest - forget it, please."

"Well, you don't have to put up with things that make you feel uncomfortable," Grace went on to say, but John shook his head, and sat down.

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable," he muttered, and George slanted another sideways look at him, and began chuckling again.

"Well, we have been officially invited to a special inter branch morning tea upstairs with the narcotics people this morning, to say thank you for helping them out, and making that arrest," said Bailey. "A couple of the top brass from headquarters will be there as well. Kudos' all around for the VCTF, which is never a bad thing, team. And of course John, they particularly want to thank you for your input."

John nodded glumly. "It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do," he said. "I hope they are going to give me a medal."

"Yes, that's going to happen," said George. "And a whopping great pension so you can retire, too."

Bailey laughed himself, and briefly dropped a hand on the younger agent's shoulder.

"Cheer up John, and if the Bureau is unappreciative, rest assured that I am glad you helped them out. That sort of goodwill can't be brought for love or money!"

He sat down in his big leather chair, and started to bring John up to date with what had happened over the last few days, then the team dispersed each to their own desks to write up reports.

An hour or so later Rachel tiptoed up behind John, and leant over to see what he was typing on his computer screen.

"If Bailey knew how many hours you spend playing Carjack on your Government issue computer, he's have a fit," she said, smiling, as John collapsed the screen down, and looked up at her in defiance.

"Well, I've finished the report, and if Bailey didn't think I was busy, he'd only find something else for me to do," he replied, flashing his special grin. "Why do you think I sit here, with my screen facing away from everyone else?"

"I wanted to speak to you before we go into this morning tea - thank you thing," Rachel began, picking up a pen, and twirling it between her fingers, refusing to smile back at him. "I couldn't believe you went for that man, while he was pointing a gun at you. It was a stupid thing to do; you could have been killed! Do you realize how scary it is watching you do things like that?"

"Well it was either that, or identifying your body a few days later when they tossed you out of an airplane, somewhere over Columbia," he replied. "It wasn't that big a deal, the guy was totally not expecting me to do that. I am just glad you realized what I was doing, and hit the floor."

"So are you going into detail about that in your report?" she asked innocently, "Because I am, and Bailey is going to carpet you for doing it."

"Rachel," he said, looking disappointed. "Can't you just say I disarmed him in the struggle, and not mention he was already pointing guns at us?"

"What's it worth to you?" she asked, leaning closer to him.

"Are you trying to bribe a Federal Agent?" he countered, staring back at her.

"Oh yeah," she said, biting the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling.

"What do you want?" he asked, his blue eyes crinkling with silent mirth.

"Well, it will be something big," she said. "You are asking me to falsify a legal document, after all. I'll think about it and let you know, when the time comes."

"The time has come," said George from the far corner of the room. "They buzzed for us upstairs. I'll get Bailey. I hope they haven't been stingy, and that they are supplying decent cakes and stuff."

They walked towards the lift, and were joined by Bailey and Grace who had shed her customary white coat in anticipation of a morning spent taking it easy.

The layout of the offices, quite a few stories above theirs, was very similar, but where the control room was on their floor, was an enormous boardroom, which was full of people grouped together and talking and laughing when they entered.

"Ah Bailey," said Susan Jamison, as she threaded her way through the crowd, "Glad you are here, let me introduce you around." She walked up to Bailey and Grace, smiling, and put her hand out to Bailey, but included Grace in her welcome. "You know David Blake and Thom Harrington, from Headquarters?"

"Yes I do, how are you?" said Bailey, shaking hands with the two men.

They moved off, talking and allowing Rachel and John to enter the room behind them. There was a momentary silence, and John looked up to be hit by the intense stares of most of the people in the room. He hesitated for a moment, in the doorway, not certain of what was going on, and Rachel sensing John's sudden reluctance to enter, in the face of all this avid interest, took his arm, and he turned his blue eyes on her almost in alarm.

"Shit, what have I done wrong?" he whispered to her. She shook her head smiling slightly whispering back "I don't know, have you falsified any reports lately?"

"Not that I can remember," he muttered, "But it's not out of the question. Oh hell, there's that woman that fell on me this morning."

Rachel looked over at a group of woman, who were staring over in their direction, one women caught Rachel's glare and raised her eyebrows suggestively, then whispered something to one of her friends, and the group all laughed. She kept her hand on John's arm, and turning her back on those people, pulled him over to where George and Grace were standing, near the large table, filled with finger food.

"Are they a weird bunch up here, or is that just me?" asked John, grabbing a sandwich.

"Do you really want an answer to that?" asked Grace, "It's way too easy a question."

Rachel smothered a laugh at John's hurt look.

"I know a couple of people, they seem o.k. to me," George said, but he was also taken aback by the amount of interest they were generating. "Look, there's Phil."

Phil pushed through some people to reach their side, and shook George's hand. He turned to John and Rachel, and put an arm around them both, grinning. "Well, look what the Bureau is doing for us," he said. "Don't you feel special?"

"I feel like a bloody idiot," said John, turning his back to the room. "Everyone is staring at me…us. I don't understand why."

"Ah," said Phil. "That could be my fault – well to a degree anyway."

"Why, what did you do or say?" asked John suspiciously, but at that moment someone called for silence, and the men from Headquarters stepped up to make a short speech.

John didn't really hear what was said; something about interdepartmental back scratching, and making the Bureau stronger, and congratulations on a well-run joint effort, so on and so forth. He absentmindedly applauded when everyone else did, and grabbed another sandwich from the loaded table. When the speech finished, he turned back to speak to Phil, only to find he had slipped away.

Bailey appeared at his elbow, and introduced the two men to him, and they both congratulated him on a successful conclusion, and Susan Jamison, the branch head of Narcotics joined them, also congratulating John, and herself for choosing him in the first place, and also praising her own man, Phil.

Rachel was talking to one of agents who she knew slightly from Quantico when Grace came up and made faces at her, so she excused herself and joined Grace.

"Look what I found," she said, and handed Rachel a series of large glossy photographs.

"Evidently these have been doing the rounds up here since the day before yesterday. No wonder everyone was looking at John. No wonder women were throwing themselves at him in the lift. He will go berserk when he realizes that these have been circulated up here. And so will Bailey."

Rachel looked down at the photographs; obviously ones that Phil had taken of John. They were very good, some she had seen before, and others she hadn't. In some photos, he was half naked, smoldering, sulky and sexy, in others happy and impossibly handsome. She looked back over to where he was standing with Bailey and the others, and knew why most of the women in the room were looking at him too.

"Shit," she said, biting her cheek to stop herself from laughing. "He's going to be so angry! I might try to get him out of here before he finds out. When we are gone, you can let Bailey know. Wish me luck."

"I will confiscate the photos," said Grace, also trying to keep the laughter off her face. "George will probably help you, grab him as well. Phil has quite a bit of explaining to do."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Phil waylaid Rachel on her way back to John's side, appearing in front of her, with a hangdog expression on his homely face.

"John is going to be furious with you," she told him, and he nodded in dismayed agreement.

"I know," he said in anguish. "But it really wasn't my fault. Susan printed off the photo's I sent her by email, and showed them to her personal assistant. She doesn't know how they got printed out and passed around by the women in this department, or so she says."

"Well, stay away from John for a while," she advised, "He didn't want to do this in the first place, we haven't even told him that we looked at the photos in our department, let alone having them circulated throughout the whole building."

John talked to the men from Headquarters, and accepted Susan's thanks with little enthusiasm, and then wandered back to the food, picking up a small cake, and breaking bits off. He felt someone bump into him, and turned around, to find the woman from the elevator smiling up at him. He felt his heart sink.

"We meet once again," she said. "I should thank you all over again, for saving me from a nasty fall this morning."

John shook his head. "Not at all," he said politely. "It was my pleasure."

She smiled slowly at him, and allowed her eyes to drift up and down his body.

"It was MY pleasure," she said to him, taking a small step towards him, and placing one delicate hand on his arm.

John found himself taking the smallest of steps backwards.

"I'm Carmen," she said to him. "You are John Grant?"

He nodded, and took another tiny backwards step. She left her hand on his arm, and squeezed a little, suggestively. At that moment, two other women came and stood next to her, and she frowned at them. John found himself standing with his back against a large cabinet, surrounded by women, and feeling far more apprehensive than when facing a criminal with a gun.

Rachel couldn't help smiling as she approached, seeing John penned in the corner by several women. The look he sent her, over their heads, was a mute appeal for help, and she pushed her way past one of the women, who sent her a filthy look for her trouble.

"Ah, sorry to interrupt," she said, taking John's other arm, "But I need you to come with me now," and she deliberately walked into Carmen, so she had to drop her hand.

The women parted glowering at Rachel, and she and John made their escape, Rachel still holding his hand, and hoping the women were watching.

"You do get yourself into some situations," she said as they left the area, and headed back down to the VCFT offices. "Sometimes I think you shouldn't be left alone for a second."

"So not my fault," he replied, leaning back in the lift car, and heaving a sigh of relief.

"I have no idea why that woman wants to keep touching me. It's very annoying."

"I think it's called flirting," said Rachel. "Surely you remember what that is."

John looked at her for a moment, from beneath his eyelashes, and then smiled slowly at her.

"I thought that was what we did," he said innocently, blue eyes laughing.

"Well don't think I'm going to start putting my hands all over you," said Rachel, unable to stop smiling back at him. "Especially now, when you've just told me how much you don't like it."

"Well, that depends on who's doing it," he said. "You could go ahead and do it, and I'll let you know when to stop."

"You wish," she said, and the lift doors opened.

"Alternatively," he went on to say, "I could always put my arms around you, and you could see if you'd like it."

She gave another little laugh, and headed down the corridor and into her office, still hanging on to his hand. He closed the door behind them, even though the center was mostly deserted, and leaned back on it.

"You are incorrigible," she said, and he nodded, the amusement still lurking in the depths of his crystal eyes. "I might just take you up on that one day, then what will you do?"

"This," he said, and pulled her towards him. They stood inches apart for a long time, gazing at each other, blue eyes staring into green, and then she closed her eyes, and he angled his head just slightly and kissed her.

It was the softest of kisses, sweet and tender, promising much, but holding back too, and Rachel was overwhelmed by sensations she couldn't name as she leant into his embrace.

After a moment, he drew back, and looked deeply into her eyes.

"Oh God, Rachel, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to…" and he broke off as his cell phone rang.

She stayed silent, and watched expressions chase across his face, as he answered his phone. She watched him go from annoyed at being interrupted to delighted in a very short space of time.

"Hey, Christian," he said, and she remembered the strikingly handsome doctor from Miami. "That would be great! It's no problem – I'm looking forward to it. Yes, catch you then." And he disconnected, smiling at her with shining eyes.

"That was Christian Troy," he said, unnecessarily. "He's coming to Atlanta next week for a few days. He wanted to stay in a motel, but he's going to stay with me instead."

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment; then he put his hand up to her cheek and stroked it softly.

"We will take this up later," he said softly, she nodded, unable to speak, overcome by the unbearable sweetness of the kiss.

He opened the door and looked back over his shoulder.

"Rachel," he said softly, and she looked at him. "I wouldn't mind your hands on my body," he said.

She laughed and waved him out of the office.

"You still owe me," she called after him and he winked at her, before running down the stairs and back to his desk. She watched him go with a smile playing around her mouth. Now was not the time to let him know that the modeling agency was putting pressure on the VCTF to force John into honoring the contract he signed. Plenty of time to do that tomorrow, she thought as she touched her lips again and closed her eyes for a moment in wonder. Tomorrow might be an interesting day, one way or another. With a quiet laugh, she sat down at her desk, and after a moment picked up the top file, and began reading about the latest case.

The End


End file.
